
■jf,jmii»s,dnmmaa, M.'iii^,«as^.-'^'»>if^-i^nn:<^,^L'^.: 



**■»«. -««*.. sSdlHlfci.vi' 



I % 






u 




\>h' 


■ 4i. 


h' 


' ^;^LJ ■ 


;• 


'•■:«■"■. .-■ 


^ «,:■■"■ P'd^f'i'sV 




lifink . M i 7 ^ r 



PRESENTHl) BY 




HIice fballowell 



THE 
STOLEN CHILD 



THAT BECAME AN INDIAN 
QUEEN 



A True Story of Old Time Indian Depredations in 

Wyoming Valley^ Pa. 



BY 

ALICE HALLOWEL 

SUNSHINE POETESS 




P5 >''*6t 



Copyrighted iSqq 

BY 

AI.IfE HALLOWELL 



ftotATv-oL 1-^^ VaJ::- St^vJtxt flrv^ 



f>ublidbeb b^ 

'Cbe Evangelfst presa 
156 jfiftb Bvc. 



This real life poem is affectionately dedicated 

to 07ie of the loveliest of women 

Mrs. Mary Clark Culver 

and her darling Child 



Tntroduction 

This little story is tender, and true. Touching 
the inmost recesses, and sweetest chords of life, 
it reveals the beauty of Faith, Fidelity, and the 
wonderful power of a mother's love. 

The little one was Fanny Slocum, living many 
years ago in the part of Pennsylvania known 
as Wyoming Valley. That beautiful region was 
often raided by the "Red Men" of those olden 
days. The untaught savages, we must not too 
severely judge, for avenging wrongs done to them. 
Alas ! The '* White Man "— " Christian "—often 
trespassed, and set a sad example for the Indian 
brother. 

Tradition says, that, when the Indians lost a 
child, they tried to steal a white one to supply 
the place. It is also said, they gave these treas- 
ures, every care and kindness. But, this consoling 
fact, was not then known to the kindred of "The 
Stolen Child." The agony of the mother's grief, 
the wearing suspense of lingering years over her 
.lost darling, can only be known, and realized, by 
those who have true, and tender hearts. I have 
the incidents from history, and a grand niece of 
"The Stolen Child" — now living. Let the story 

speak for itself. 

The Author 
June, 1899 



THE STOLEN CHILD 



By 
ALICE HALLOWELL 



IN sweet Wyoming Valley fair, 
There dwelt long years ago, 
A darling dimpled baby girl, 

Whose mother loved her so, 
She ne'er would let her go beyond 

Her tender watchful care, 
For fear some hidden danger might 
The little one ensnare. 

And so she played beside the door 
With childish prattle, sweet, 

Rocking her doll with lullaby, 
Patting her little feet. 



One day, when fields of corn were green, 

Near by the growing wheat, 
And father and his sons were there 

Working to make ends meet. 
Some from the tribe of '* Red Men " near, 

Approached with stealthy feet. 
Ah me! dim words cannot portray 

The cruel deed of that sad day ! 

Their work was done, the bleeding forms 
Of father, and a son, lay dead. 

One boy was left, we know not why 
His life was spared, unscalped his head. 



He *mong the thicket refuge took, 

Ne'er turning back for one last look. 
Nor dreaming what had come to pass, 

Or lay upon the summer grass. 
Nor, did he hear the cry of fear 

From little one, or mother dear. 
But oh, alas ! he later knew. 

And dwelt within the shadow too! 

Like savage beast with taste of blood. 

The red fiends rushed on through the wood, 

Where cabin in seclusion stood. 
To yet fulfill their vengeful mood. 

6 



In silent stealth, drew softly nigh, — 

The singing birds were quick to fly. — 
But "baby " still no danger knew. 

Until their forms the shadow threw. 
O ! then, she raised a cry of fright. 

They caught her, and began their flight, 
Almost before the mother saw 

The spectre from her open door. 

The piercing cries, the mother's woe 

None but the Lord, our God, could know! 

Liked winged arrows sent afar. 

They seemed to reach ** The Gates Ajar." 



Long years she lived, and wept, and toiled. 

Her heart was aching — bleeding sore — 
She prayed to God, she plead with man, 

To bring her darling babe once more. 
'*To fold my precious child again — 

Once more, against my throbbing breast," 
She cried, most piteously, *'0 God! 

Let this, I pray, be Thy behest ! " 

Ah, me! it is a sad, sad thing 

When loving ones must sever, part! 

No wonder that the angels weep 
Over a wounded, bleeding heart! 



And then, oh then, when it doth break. 

And life with agony is filled, 
God pity us — does pity us — 

For He the pain hath willed. 
Aye, he doth test our faith in Him 

In many and mysterious ways, 
Yet watches still so tenderly 

Our stricken, broken hopes to raise. 

Aye, lifts us when we've fallen low. 
E'en like the flowers, and the grass. 

When thunder storm, and sweeping wind 
All bruise, and break them, as they pass! 



She thus lived on, in sorrow wept. 

And anxious vigils hourly kept — 
The search renewed, went on for years, 

And yet, amidst her blinding tears 
The word was ever wafted back, 

''Not yet, not yet, the Red Man's track! " 
At last, her head drooped on her breast, — 

The aching heart had found its rest. 

In bidding her dear boy adieu. 

She said, " My child, God leads us through 
This changeful life. Thou, still pursue 
The search for our lost one anew. 

8 



**She may be gone, long, long ago, 

O! would that I might know it so! 
But, if alive, thou find her dear, 

And give a mother's love, and cheer!" 
Her hands then folded on her breast, 

She passed into God's loving rest — 
The spirit left its mortal clay. 

To soar in realms of brighter day ! 

Again the search broke through the gloom — 
Passed through the family like heirloom — 

And Patience found her own reward. 
Because she bowed before the Lord. 



Like shafts of light from setting sun. 

Or shout of joy when race is won, 
A word came from the far off West, 

**The child still lives! is hap'ly blest 
In having spent a useful life — 

A brave and noble Chieftain's wife. " 
There is no language that can tell, 

The music of this late joy-bell. 

No more was room for pain, or strife; 

The very air with joy was rife! 
No more they doubted in the Lord — 

They saw fulfilled His promised word. 

9 



Soon travellers were on their way. — 

On horseback, for in that far day 
Few stages traversed the rough way. 

The snorting engines now at play, 
Would soon have sped the miles away. 

But slow they went, ah, lack-a-day! 
And, weary days, they needs must spend, 

Ere they could reach their journey's end. 

*Twas in a bright Ohio town 

They laid their heavy burdens down, 

And stepped upon the waiting ground — 
The flitting Firefly had been found ! 



The noted wigwam was quite near — 

Soon message went from kindred dear, — 
The word came back, *' She'd gladly see 

The fam'ly where she used to be." 
Anon there was a touching scene. 

Which echoed in the forest green, — 
The ' ' lost child" found !— What ' 'might have been, " 

Was here an aged Indian Queen. 

The room was cozy, clean, and warm. 
Two daughters moved about her form. 

And, from the mother of the past 

The teachings on her child were cast. 

10 



A dresser stood against the wall, 

To hold the plates, both large and small, 
And, when to use at any hour, 

(Ah ! here we note the mother's pow'r) — 
For any dust or floating thing. 

There was at hand a birdling's wing. 
And deftly were they wiped anew, 

As she had seen her mother do. 

O ! Is it not a beaut'ous thing. 

That mother's love, like angel's wing, 

Doth flutter through this life of care, 
And follow with us, everywhere? 



Praise be to God, that it is so ! 

It turns the tear-drops here below. 
Into the glorious heav'nly bow! 

Reveals the grandeur, which we know! 
O ! blessed taste of life to be ! 

Dear Father, Father, nearer Thee ! 
Our longing spirits when set free. 

Can soar to Thine eternity ! 

The visit ended, calm and sweet — 
Her Chieftain lay near by her feet. 

She could not leave the mound so green, 
Nor from its side, could e'er be seen. 

11 



Aye! visit ended, kindred seen, 

Returned to home, where she had been. 
To all of their entreaties dear, 

She shook her head with silent tear, 
And using all due deference, 

Spoke thus, with Indian eloquence, 
" I could not leave my Chieftain's side, 

He was so true, to me, his bride. 

**I ne'er could leave his lonely grave, 
To traverse field, or mighty wave. 
The Spirit Great, that watcheth all, 
Will keep us safe, whate'er befall. 



*'The deer its forest cannot leave, 

For woodland home, I too, would grieve. 
My Chieftain would not me deceive. 

Nor I, his spirit, could bereave." 
In reverence all had thus been said. 

In silence now she bowed her head. 
In youth, and faith, she had been wed, 

E'en so, was loyal to her dead. 

The kindred had their mission filled; — 

With joy, and pain, their souls were thrilled. 

They, now pursued their homeward way, 
While she, besought the coming Day ! 

12 



With ripened years, all well nigh past, 
Serenely faithful to the last — 

Her yearning spirit, grandly fled,. 
Whilst ev'ningsun, its glory shed! 



^ f^ 



Alice Hallowell, 

Sunshine Poetess. 



13 



SEQUEL TO 

THE STOLEN CHILD 



BUT pause a moment, if you choose, 
And the Great Volume we'll peruse; 
And, strive to be more just, and true. 
As this strange life we journey through. 

These '* Red Men," had been robbed, you see. 
Of their own rights in country free. 
E'en so, the " White Man's" grasping hand 
Followed the words, *'I take this land." 

'Tis true, sometimes a price was paid. 
Though nominal, and truce was made. 
Alas! indeed, not always so, — 
For often they were bidden, *' Go." 

And, did they not obey right soon. 
They were removed 'twixt moon and moon. 
Without, e'en seeming conscience-part, — 
Nor, trace of feeling from the heart. 

14 



Again, the Page of Life we turn, 
And read within the book of Time, 
Of things so strangely wonderful, 
And ending in the Vast Sublime. 

The " Red Men " of those former days. 
Were untaught in our Christian ways — 
At least, in ways that claim to be 
A following, O Christ, of Thee. 

Although this worthy family 
Had doubtless never wronged a one, 
They were avenging injuries — 
Some grievous things by others done. 

And are we not in present life, 
Too oft pursuing this same strife? 
Yet kindling fires fresh to burn, 
Upon Time's Wheel, with fateful turn? 

Do we oppress the weak to-day? 
Or, do we aid their toilsome way? 
Do we forever "watch, and pray," 
All — all along the journey's way? 

And, even when we pray an hour. 
Do we invoke the holy pow'r, 
To fill our Souls with grace divine, 
Upon our Brothers' lives to shine? 

15 



Do we in mind, and soul, and heart. 
Receive The Word^ and, do our part ? 
Aye, truly try in earnest way 
To win back those, who've gone astray? 

Heeding the voice of night and day, 
*' Do walk thou in the Saviour's way — 
Choose thou His steps, and follow in — 
Avoid, oh, shun, the path of sin! 

O, lay aside thy human pride — 
And well thy worldly goods divide — 
With kindly words of loving will. 
The Cup of Joy, not Sorrow, fill!" 

If so, how could such misery be 

En route to the Eternity? 

Why must the ** green-eyed" monster be. 

In place of Love's Sincerity? 

Why must one life be filled with woe, 
Because another makes it so? 
And why, one child be trembling cold. 
While others dress in cloth of gold? 

Why, must one rob the rights, the joy, 
From other lives, and so destroy 
Their share of happiness in life, 
And thus maintain the painful strife? 

16 



In fine, why must drear discord be, 
When Life beams forth so gloriously — 
For ev'ry one — all living things — ! 
O! why, doth happiness have wings? 

Why can't the clouds forever part, 
And gladness dwell in ev'ry heart? 
Why can't we chase from Life, all pain, 
And let sweet Joy forever reign? 



O ! Let us not while living here, 
Like cruel savages appear — 
Nor, like the wild beast of the field — 
But, like the Harvest, let us yield 

A golden, plenteous fruit, sublime, 
Plucked in perfection, and its prime, 
By One who plants the sacred seeds. 
And is sore grieved by noxious weeds. 

Oh ! Praise to Thee, our Father, Lord, 
Teach us in joy to heed Thy word ! 
May we deserve all blessings sweet, 
And find for aye. Thy grand retreat! 



Alice Hallowell. 
17 



BooKs, Songs, Poems and Stories 

BY 

ALICE HALLOWELL, Sunshine Poetess 

AUTHOR OF 

Forget=ne=Not, or Sunshine in Affliction 

The Song of the Art Gallery 

The Stolen Child, (by the Indians. — A true story.) 

Our Nation and National Things 

A Silver Lining to the Cloud 

The Young Hero (A war story) 

The Epidemic. To the Fair Buyer 

The Feline Choir— Owed to the Kit Kat Club 

The Needy Child. Flowers of Character 

The Admiral (of Spanish -American War) 

Betsy Ross, The First National Flag Maker 

True Heroism. The Tin Wedding 

The Origin of Hen=Pecked Husbands 

The Sirens. The National Flower 

Farewell to Mrs. Frank Leslie 

Address of Welcome (To Senator Chauncey M. Depew) 

Christmas Bells. The Christmas Angel 

Songs 

Sweet William (To United States President McKinley) 

Our National Flower, Windsor Castle 

Love's Mystery (Song and Poem) 

Sunshine Song (For Tribune Sunshine Society) 

The Song of the Suffering Child. Haddon Hall 

The Song of the Heartsease. Two Little ilaids 

Irish Ballad— Paddy and Annie (A love song) 

The Song of Wyoming Valley 

Smythe (A Scotch Ballad) 

Thy Lamp is Burning (To Mrs. Knapp) 

Down by the Sounding Sea 

The Prayer of Forget=Me-Not 

18 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 863 553 7 



